


like a letter painted red

by savi0urdr3amer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Oral Sex, Vampire AU, mercymaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 15:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10129034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savi0urdr3amer/pseuds/savi0urdr3amer
Summary: Dr. Angela Ziegler, fascinated with the idea of immortality, has stumbled across a secret she can barely bring herself to keep.Or:For the past few months, Dr. Angela Ziegler has been fucking a vampire.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i was originally going to post this for femslash february but i'm 100% trash and just finished it, gomen ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> a few weeks ago my director for my senior writing project told me to work on things other than my project to keep myself busy. little does he know that for me it means writing smut lmao 
> 
> in case you didn't know, i'm a sucker for vampire!aus. and vampire!widowmaker? i'm fucking weak, @ widow: pls slay me. enjoy ur sin, kids

Angela’s flight gets delayed and Amélie nearly cracks the screen of her phone in anticipation as she waits, her fingertips shaking. Finally the screen lights up in the darkness. _Was stuck at an airport in Munich for three hours. Flight was long._

She’s been away at some bullshit medical conference for a solid week, which means Amélie hasn’t tasted blood in close to eight days. The last time she fed was the night before Angela left, and she hasn’t slept fucking wink since then. The withdrawal kept her up at night, made her roam the streets, staring down each person that passed her in the dreary London rain, and by some miracle she managed not to drag one of them into an alleyway and sink her teeth into their jugular. The taste wouldn’t have been the same, but at least it would’ve been _something_. This is the longest she’s gone without blood since she was newly turned, when she went through people and drained them dry like it was nothing. (She likes to think that she’s grown since then, but she’s found that Angela makes her think differently.)

Her phone lights up again no more than a minute later. _Just got home. Let me know when you’re coming._

As Amélie’s eyes scan the screen again she’s already walking. She stuffs her phone into her pocket and chews on the inside of her cheek to distract herself as she steps above ground for the first time in three days, the hunger already burning in her belly. She’s a shit texter and Angela knows it. She won’t be angry. The air is cold and mist hangs in the air, blotting out the lights of the city and turning them into nothing but blurry, dim shapes.

How she got there so quickly she doesn't know.

It’s 3 AM and Amélie’s become an expert at breaking into Angela’s apartment. She rarely locks the door on her balcony- and if she does, Amélie’s gotten too good at picking it. Finding her way up to it and getting it open feels like child’s play. Effortless. 

The balcony leads straight into Angela’s bedroom. All of the overhead lights are off, and the room is lit only by a lamp at the corner of the room. She’s tossed a half-open suitcase at the foot of her bed, along with her coat and handful of IDs that have her name and the Overwatch logo plastered all over them. The conference was probably something Overwatch-related. Figures.

Angela’s sitting in the spinning chair at her desk, facing away from her. She scrolls through her dimly lit holopad with her thumb, her hair pulled into a half-assed ponytail, and she’s thrown on a winkled pair of pajamas.

“Angela.” Amélie says softly but firmly after a few seconds of silence. At times she forgets that she’s so quiet Angela doesn’t hear her.

Turning her head, Angela takes off a pair of reading glasses and spins the chair around to face her. Even from here she can feel Angela’s blood calling to her and she can practically _taste_ it, and the need to feed washes over her relentlessly. Without even thinking, Amélie lunges at her and settles into her lap, her canines just centimeters from Angela’s barely exposed throat.

It's sudden and lightning fast, but not enough to catch Angela off guard.

“You smell good,” Amélie rasps as she nips at Angela’s neck, wasting no time showing her exactly what she wants.

Angela’s laugh is dry and guttural, and her pulse pounds harder against Amélie’s lips, throbbing hypnotically just beneath her skin. She chokes back something between a shudder and a moan unsuccessfully as Amélie’s kisses become more tongue than teeth, and she traces the outline of Angela’s jaw like it’s a map she’s been made to chart, her skin heating up with every languid, heated line Amélie draws on her skin.

“Hm.” Angela exhales as Amélie presses another kiss to her jugular, her head spinning. “I’ve needed to shower since last night and I could smell the antiseptic on me as soon as I left the lab this morning, so I’m not sure what about me smells _good_ , liebling, but it’s nice to see you too.”

“You know what I mean.” Amélie murmurs, nuzzling into her neck, practically drunk already on nothing but pure sensation. It takes every bit of restraint in her not to sink her teeth into Angela’s pretty neck right then and there. “Mm, I’ve needed you.”

The way her voice goes down an octave makes heat swell up in Angela’s chest and her cheeks immediately flush.

“You couldn’t find anyone else to feed on while I was gone? Someone’s getting attached.” Angela tries to laugh again, but the way Amélie grinds her hips against her own makes her gasp, sending little electric jolts of pleasure up her spine, along with a combination of chills only Amélie’s cold touch can give her.

Now is not the time for joking- not when she’s been the only thing Amélie’s thought about all week.

“I thought about it.” Amélie responds, a bit bitterly, the desire making her voice crack for only a second. “But no one tastes the same. Not as good as you do.”

A little _oh_ is all Angela can manage because Amélie’s knee is pressing down between her legs, where she’s warm and throbbing, and she can feel whatever’s left of her resolve crumbling. Amélie pulls her into a fierce kiss, one that’s hungry and fervent and just plain _desperate_ , and Angela arches her back instinctively as Amélie breaks the kiss to dip down to her neck again, her teeth grazing that perfect little pulse point that makes her thrill. She tilts her head at just the perfect angle to feel Amélie’s dark hair tickling her neck, and she swears she could lose herself in the way Amélie’s choppy breaths give her goosebumps, her skin tingling.

“You’re the only one I feed on nowadays. You know that.” Angela can barely make out Amélie’s words, quiet enough to be a whisper, and her mind has admittedly already gone to scenarios that involve far more than feeding.

If someone told Angela Ziegler she’d be fucking a vampire a few months ago, she would’ve laughed. But now she’s the one who wants to laugh at herself because this is all so crazy, yes, but it’s exactly what she’s always _wanted_. That, and the sex is a killer bonus.

Amélie’s kissing bruises onto Angela’s skin, sucking and nibbling on every sensitive spot that makes Angela squirm beneath her, and she’s just about to sink her teeth into what she’s been craving for what feels like an eternity when Angela’s voice barely cuts through the lust-filled haze that clouds her.

“Not here. Not comfortable.” She says softly, and then the word _bed_ is the only thing she follows it with. Amélie’s eyes are faster than her words, shooting to the poorly made bed at the corner of the room with what could easily be called a scowl. In her two hundred years of living, she’s never once been patient, and she’s not about to start now.

She grabs Angela’s wrist and climbs off of her with a speed that could only be called inhuman, and Angela’s spinning chair squeaks a few times as Amélie kicks it back towards her desk and turns to face the bed. It’s a miracle that the piece of shit didn’t break from the weight of two people making out haphazardly on it in the first place. Angela’s holopad flickers briefly in her peripherals, but she pays it no attention- the battery on it can die for all she cares. There are more important things at hand right now.

With a scoff, she pushes Angela onto the mattress and pounces on her the way a lion would a gazelle, a ravenous look in her eyes. Angela’s skin is scorching hot, and Amélie can practically _feel_ the blood rushing beneath her skin, thrumming in her veins, rushing through the perfect little branches she just wants to break into with her teeth and _suck_  at until the hunger in her belly is satiated.

“Always playing it safe, chérie. What am I going to do with you?” Amélie’s busy creating a constellation of bruises on Angela’s fair skin, edging closer and closer to the spot that calls to her like a siren’s hymn, about as soothing as something so painfully addictive can be.

“I don’t know. Corrupt me, maybe?” Angela laughs, her spine arching, hips pressing upwards as Amélie’s hands slip beneath her clothes, tracing whimsical lines on her skin. Amélie decides to play nice as she pins Angela’s hips between her thighs, granting her the friction she wants so badly, and she’s rewarded with a breathy moan from Angela, her pretty pink lips pursed in a way that makes Amélie want to _devour_ her.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe next time, mon ange, yes?” Amélie says, pressing a hungry kiss to Angela’s lips. Angela squirms beneath her as she traces her bottom lip with her tongue and the sounds she makes almost has Amélie ready to give in and _fuck_ her until she’s begging.

She stops only to shift back, pulling off Angela’s shirt with a greedy, wry grin, her own top following suit in a matter of seconds, and her hands snake to Angela’s back to unclasp her bra.

“Did you think about this while you were gone, chérie?” Amélie’s velvety grin grows even bigger as she unhooks Angela’s bra and throws it off the side of the bed, her canines flickering briefly in the low light like a pair of daggers. “Being my little pet for the night and getting touched all over?”

The gasp Angela lets out makes simmering, dangerous heat settle in Amélie’s chest, sinking down between her legs. The only response she can manage is a stutter.

“Come now, chérie, use your words.” Amélie purrs, her eyes narrowing, her fingers tracing down Angela’s bare chest, drawing circles on the center of her sternum. “You doctors have to do that all the time, don’t you?”

“ _Verdammt,_ Amélie,” Angela takes in a sharp, irritated breath, her chest rising, eyelids fluttering. “I didn’t wait a whole week just to be _teased_.”

“That makes two of us, then.” Amélie retorts smugly, eyeing the spot on Angela’s neck that makes her pulse pound. She buries her face in the warmth where Angela’s jaw becomes her neck, feeling the way her heartbeat pounds beneath her skin with a hungry shudder. Amélie knows she won’t be able to bite here, that she _can’t_ , unless she wants Overwatch’s prodigy of a doctor bleeding out on her own bed, but _god_ the thought is so fucking tempting.

Slowly, begrudgingly, Amélie moves a few inches lower, searching for the familiar spot where she can nick a vein and lose herself in the way Angela spasms underneath her. It’s truly a marvel to see someone so composed, so eloquent, come undone with just a few flicks of a tongue- she’ll never admit it out loud, but Amélie’s never been more grateful that _the_ Angela Ziegler is doing far more than keep a secret or two, one that could _easily_ jeopardize her career (and Amélie’s life, for that matter), but she keeps her mouth shut despite her blatant fascination with anything that’s undead but still somehow breathing. If that’s not the most twisted kind of irony, Amélie doesn’t know what is- a doctor that’s fascinated with dying. Or whatever’s closest to it. It’s not all that different in her eyes anymore.

But what’s more important right now is that Amélie knows she can’t hold out much longer like this, not when what she’s yearned for so badly is practically in her grasp; she feels like a cat pawing for a mouse that’s centimeters out of reach, and her head is beginning to spin.

“May I?” The words sound dangerously cliché as they leave Amélie’s mouth, and they truthfully come out far more composed than she actually feels. As if in suggestion, she lightly tilts Angela’s neck upwards with her free hand, feeling Angela’s blood singing to her beneath the surface of her fine, milky skin. The back of her throat _burns_ with dryness and desire and it feels like it’s cracking, falling into her chest like broken glass. God, she needs this.

Of course, the thought of how dangerous this whole situation is rears its head, briefly, too- it’s been years since Amélie’s relied on someone like this.

Actually, scratch that. She’s never been attached to anyone like this before. That realization alone sends a reeling wave of heat through her, one that threatens to almost make her lukewarm cheeks flush, and it only adds to the desire that’s beginning to tear her apart.

“Of course.” Angela finally says. Her murmur is as gentle as an angel’s, her voice like feathers raining down from a clear sky, bringing a relief mixed with anticipation, a diabolic cocktail Amélie could easily get drunk on. With something between a laugh and a sigh, Amélie briefly gazes at the doctor through her peripherals with a sneer, baring her teeth again.

Thank _God._ She doesn’t even _need_ anything else- now all she’s focused on is _Angela_. Mercy has never sounded quite so glorious. 

Without hesitation, Amélie sinks her teeth into Angela’s neck with a wry smile, and a low, guttural moan claws its way out of her throat the second she tastes blood. There’s a sweetness there that’s unmistakable, one that only comes from Angela; immediately Amélie’s head is reeling and her body ignites, every half-dead nerve lighting up like a match that won’t go out, and for a second she almost loses herself in it. Angela’s gasp is the only thing that pulls her back- it’s distinctly laced with pain, but mixed with a perfect and salacious bit of pleasure that makes her tremble as Amélie’s tongue laps at the fresh wounds, the blood swirling in her mouth, warm and thick and metallic.

Amélie’s fingers trace over the ridges of Angela’s ribs and drift over her breast, grazing over one of her nipples. Angela lets out a startled squeak as Amélie flicks her fingers back and forth, her nipple hardening, and her back arches further into Amélie’s touch. Her fingers dig pink and white half-moons into Amélie’s bare back, and the dull sensation of pain dissolves into nothing but pleasure that only adds to the heat between Amélie’s legs. Still grinning, she pinches Angela’s nipple between her fingers as she grinds down on her, still nipping and sucking at her neck, transfixed by the drops of blood that rise up from her veins. It takes everything in her not to bite down again, not to bite _deeper_ , because she knows she can’t take that much blood at one time- she doesn’t need to be a doctor like Angela to know that. But Angela makes her feel like she’s _starving_.

And she's not the only one getting desperate.

“Amélie, Amélie, _please_ -” Angela gasps desperately as one of her hands makes its way into Amélie’s dark hair, pulling her closer. Amélie knows what she wants just by how her voice wavers, turning into little half-stutters and gasps, and her body is hot beneath her with need.

Amélie never gets enough blood to truly be sated, but what Angela gives her is the next best thing, so she gladly diverts her attention elsewhere, knowing that Angela won’t last long like this, either. Amélie plants kisses down her chest as she moves away from her neck, bruised but licked clean, leaving what’s left of burgundy lipstick in her wake, and as she cups Angela’s breasts and massages them with the pads of her thumbs she latches her tongue onto one of her nipples and _sucks_. It’s not nearly as forceful as when she feeds, but it still makes Angela quiver and groan beneath her, panting like a teenaged schoolgirl. As Amélie’s tongue swirls around her nipple Angela bucks her hips out of nothing but instinct and pure desire, and Amélie hums in delight in response, which draws out an even more primal and needy gasp from Angela. Amélie’s gaze briefly flickers up as she continues her ministrations, her cognac eyes bright and smug, and she can’t help but be proud of the way Angela’s eyelids flutter shut, how her lips purse as she moans and how she writhes beneath her.

Nibbling on her breast, tongue still brushing over a stiff nipple, Amélie’s spare hand briefly traces the jut of Angela’s hipbones before yanking her sweatpants down in one swift motion. She doesn’t even need to touch Angela between her legs to know she’s wet- she can already smell the arousal coming from her, and it makes her mouth water with an entirely different kind of hunger. She briefly grazes over Angela’s panties with a low chuckle, putting the lightest of pressure on her clit, and Angela practically reels in response. If that isn’t a clear enough message, she doesn’t know what is.

Angela’s panties are gone in a blink. They were too plain to pay attention to, anyway. Slinking down between her legs, Amélie’s eyes blaze a seething trail up Angela’s body again, and she doesn’t blink as they make eye contact. Angela’s blue eyes are glazed over with lust, her pupils dilated and bottomless, and her breath comes in heavy pants, hitching when Amélie’s warm breath meets her skin.

“I want to hear all the pretty sounds you make for me, chérie. Muffle any of them and I will know.” Amélie presses a teasing kiss against her and Angela nods quickly, her head tipping back, revealing the line of bruises that turn to kisses trailing down her body.

The grip Angela has on her only balls into a tighter fist as Amélie’s mouth meets her, hot and hungry, and she twitches as Amélie tastes her, her tongue parting her, grazing up to her clit before teasingly trailing back down again, tantalizingly slow. A wave of pleasure surges in Angela, swelling up between her legs, and it only makes her drip and pull Amélie further into her. Amélie gladly indulges and tastes Angela like it was what she was made for; she’s warm and sticky and sweet, and every occasional suck on her clit makes Angela’s entire body tense up. She drapes one leg over Amélie’s back to give her better access, spreading her legs wide, and when Amélie hums into her clit the back of Angela’s heel twitches against her shoulderblade. The moan she lets out is high-pitched and on the verge of crumbling, and with a wicked grin Amélie sinks two fingers into her without warning, and Angela’s so turned on she doesn’t even feel the sting. Instead, she feels only pleasure. Her clit pulses against Amélie’s tongue as she curls her fingers inside of her until she sees white, and she sets into a steady, slow rhythm that she builds up every time Angela gasps out her name and quivers. By the time she’s sped up Angela’s pleas have turned into broken German, and Amélie only continues fucking her harder, feeling the pleasure building up in her, so close to unraveling.

 It only takes a few more flicks of her tongue to have Angela clenching around her fingers, and with what’s close to a scream Angela comes, hard, fast, her entire body quaking. Bliss shoots through her nerves like a drug and a fine sheen of sweat coats her body, giving her a glow that could only be called angelic, and the devilish look in Amélie’s eyes only adds to the sensation. She balls the vampire’s hair so tightly in her fists she fears she might hurt her, but Amélie doesn’t seem to care in the slightest; instead she only buries her head between Angela’s legs more, lapping up her climax gladly, greedily, happily cleaning up the mess she’s made.

It takes a few minutes for Angela to have coherent thoughts again. In English, too- Amélie might be centuries old, but her knowledge of German is still sub-par at best. (She’s made it her own personal vendetta to teach her, but hasn’t gotten to it yet. They still have time, she thinks. Plenty of it.) With her hands still in Amélie’s hair, Angela motions her upwards and crashes their lips together the moment she’s close enough. Amélie’s lips are sticky and sweet, and she can only faintly taste copper. Angela can hardly taste the blood anymore- It all tastes simply like _Amélie_ nowadays, and it’s something she can’t get enough of.

As Amélie breaks the kiss and straddles her again she can’t help but laugh. Angela’s hands have already made their way to her hips in an effort to pull her pants down.

“What, chérie, I can’t have my fun?” The way Amélie licks her lips makes Angela breathless, her cheeks flushing again.

“I don’t know, liebling. It seems like you just had more than your share of fun.” Angela teases. “I think it’s only fair that I get to do exactly what I thought about while I was gone.”

She doesn’t need to say anything else. Amélie takes off her pants, tugs her panties off, and moves towards the headboard with a low groan in her throat. As Angela settles between her legs she can only choke out a few words before they turn into moans.

“There’s a time and place for patience, chérie.”

(Now isn’t one of them.)


End file.
